From Sunsets to Storm Clouds

Being still

January 11th, 2020
This was not the plan.

Moving to Vermont and renting a room in a house with a couple of guys and a couple of cats.

Shopping for snowshoes and snowtires.

Going to work at an outdoor preschool.

Ten years ago, I planned to graduate college and teach in Missouri. Four years ago, I planned to move to North Carolina. One year ago, I planned to move to Arizona. Two months ago, I drove into Vermont for the first time in the midst of a minor snowstorm…and I literally booked an AirBnB on the way (while parked in a New Hampshire coffeeshop). Definitely didn’t expect to get a job and move back up here.
But here we are.

As I settle in, I’m trying to figure out what I “want” from this newest adventure.

The past six or so months have been spent wandering. And while I think I’m ready to be still for a minute, I’m a little worried that I’ll get antsy.

I’m living in a town where I can walk from one end to the other in about 20 minutes. Last week, I got a library card and did some work in the upstairs space that overlooked a snow-covered field. And I got breakfast in one of the small bakery/coffeeshops in town (not the best breakfast sandwich…but a solid effort).

I’ve wandered around the tiny town and found a near-by trail…frequented by cross-country skiers this time of year. I’ve done research into skis, snow shoes, and everything in between.

And now I’m itching for something new.

Between yoga this morning in the nearby “city” and the sourdough starter I’m trying to charm into existence, I’m sure I can keep myself busy.

But what if I can’t scratch the itch to wander?

This is an adventure in being still.

(Well…a little still. I have the Adirondacks to the west, the Whites to the east and the Green Mountains to the south. This might be okay.)
A year on trails

January 1st, 2020

On January 1, 2019, I went hiking. My first hike of the year (obviously). That weird “in between” time between Christmas and New Year’s had gotten to me, so I was going just a little bit stir crazy. And hiking was the reprieve. It wasn’t an incredibly long or arduous hike…but it was a chance for my brain slow down and prepare for the year ahead (and what a year it was).

Throughout the year, hiking has continued to serve as a reprieve. Anytime that life has felt to overwhelming, hiking has been a way to reset. No matter how complicated “everything” seemed, I knew that the woods would be there and they would be safe.

Sometimes they were bright and sunny. Sometimes they were dark. Some hikes were hot and muggy…others were rainy or snowy…and many times they were foggy. But one thing was certain – I would always come off a trail with a better sense of direction and greater confidence in whatever came next.

Sometimes the hikes were easy, a gentle mosey through the woods. And sometimes they were hard. In New Hampshire, I got my butt handed to me with some serious elevation gain. In Vermont, I plowed my way through fresh snow. And in Maryland I almost got eaten alive by mosquitoes the size of cows. But each trail, filled with its own, unique set of challenges, left me with a unique sense of accomplishment.

Sometimes I made it through an entire trail without seeing another soul. One time everyone I saw commented on the coffee I made on rocks and stumps alongside the trail. A few times people commented on the size of my pack. And very occasionally, I intentionally hiked with other people. Oh – and one time I discussed my philosophy of education with a couple of elementary school principals! Going along or meeting people along the way…I certainly have a preference, but I’ve seen the advantage to both approaches (I’m looking at you, Mount Mansfield). There are moments when community can push you along on a journey.

Sometimes there were creatures. Maybe a dog came along…but it’s more likely that I just found them along the way. Lots of caterpillars and slugs and snails. Occasionally a snake or frog or salamander. And then there were those wild baby hogs (if I didn’t tell you that story…it’s better “in person”). They always instilled with me a sense of wonder – their movement, their adaptation, the way they’re just doing life in this place of pure beauty!

On January 1, I didn’t really have a “hiking plan.” I wanted to cover 300 miles (50 more than last year), but there wasn’t a specific method to that madness. Just go.

So I went 352 miles in 12 different states (full disclosure – my last hike was chosen solely to even up some of those numbers).

The woods never failed to be my safe space…a place that gave me clarity…that reminded me what I value and why…that made me slow down and appreciate beauty.

The new year is sure to be more of the same.
Old rhythms

December 18th, 2019

I’ve been in Nashville for 16 days.

Sixteen days of visiting my favorite places. Drinking my favorite beer. Seeing my favorite people. Talking about my favorite things. Experiencing southern hospitality at its’ finest. Checking out new things that I’ve wanted to see.

Sixteen days of falling into familiar rhythms.

Last week, I went to the baking class at my old community center. The class that I started three and a half years ago because I had a crazy idea of baking with kids. I was just there to connect with some of my favorite kiddos and catch up on their lives and help out with baking if needed.

While we were cleaning up, a kid walked into the kitchen and – without even knowing what we had made that day – asked, “Can I have some?!?”

And, because this is a familiar place and time and person to me, I responded:. “Is that how you enter a room? No ‘Hi! Good to see you’?”

He turned and walked out of the room. Then he came back in and greeted each of us. He asked how our day was going, what we made, and if he could have some.

Then someone shared some bread and butter (because that’s what they made!!).

And that reminded me of rhythms. He & I both have a rhythm for the kitchen at the community center. Despite my absence from that time and space and person, we both fell straight into that rhythm.

There are rhythms in my driving and my work. In my relationships and in my need to be alone. In my frustrating with traffic and my desire to live amongst trees.

Over the past 5+ months of traveling, I’ve missed having rhythms. I’ve tried to establish a few here and there, but everything has felt so topsy turvy and unstable (not in a bad way) that it’s seemed like a daunting task.

So I think I’m ready to find some rhythms (besides making pie in every state I visit and hiking every trail possible).
Being back

December 9th, 2019
Things I missed in Nashville
- Winter farmer’s markets
- Strangers making conversation in the library
- Neighborhood coffee shops
- Strangers making conversation in yoga classes
- Hanging out with goofy kids that I’ve watched grow up
- Being asked, “Do you believe in the Loch Ness Monster?” by a nine year old
- Talking about my favorite places to eat, drink and hike
- Strangers making conversation in the Kroger check-out line
- Kroger
- Catching up with friends
Things I didn’t miss in Nashville
- Seeing someone I briefly dated five years ago in a yoga class and avoiding eye contact
- Running into people I know at coffee shops, Kroger, and everywhere in between
- Traffic
- Weather that can’t decide what it wants to do
- Mass panic over a chance of snow
- Constructions
- People who drive slowly and gawk at…houses? Trees? I’m not really sure.
- Light pollution
- Bachelorette parties
The side of love

November 30th, 2019

Back in August, someone asked me what I was doing for the holidays.

And I got angry.

The idea of planning that far in advance seemed a little crazy, given that I didn’t even know where I would be a week later.

But also…I didn’t want to think about the holidays.

The holidays were/are a looming symbol of how my family has changed over the past year. And not for the better. Since my grandmother died in February (and well before that), everyone seems to have been accumulating hurts. And holding on to them. Saying “everyone” might be a bit extreme. But the dynamic has shifted and we are no longer a family of which my grandmother would be proud.

At the service celebrating her life, someone said of her, “She always chose to be on the side of love.” I’ve thought of that often…trying to figure out what it means. It’s more complicated than it sounds. Because love is more complicated…maybe it’s a spectrum rather than two distinct sides. If love is a spectrum, how do I – despite the messiness and weightiness of the holidays – move towards the side of love?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that I am an imperfect, messy human being trying to do life in the midst of other imperfect, messy human beings. I cannot promise myself or anyone else to get it right all of the time, but I can promise to try to work on it.
People pt 2

November 22nd, 2019

After traveling with another human being, I’m ready to go back to being a hermit.

I’ve grown so accustomed to moving at my own rhythm and pace…waking up at the crack of dawn to find the best coffee in a town and working my way down roads at leisurely a pace…waking up the next morning to find the nearest trail and taste the mountains and trees…then doing it all over again. Drinking a beer or two in between and going to bed early.

I figured that visiting Montreal with another human being would be fine. We’d wander around the city…drink things…see things…wander home…sleep and repeat.

We did all of that. And we crashed on the living room floor of friends of my friend. And we played Cards Against Humanity and we went to a trivia night and we saw a light show at Notre Dame (yeah??) and we went to Musee des Beaux-Arts and visited a speakeasy and we hiked to the top of Mont-Royal and we popped into used book stores where I read children’s books and we ate lots of bagels and our host made us fun cocktails and we hopped on and off the metro and I made a couple of batches of gluten-free mini pies and we bought extra bagels and I made breakfast sandwiches for dinner and I washed the dishes and and we stayed up late pairing wine with cheese and…

It was all wonderful. Every morning, I still woke up at the crack of dawn and worked for a couple of hours. I wandered around the neighborhood and found coffeeshops with Wifi. And those few hours of peace…quiet…when we weren’t trying to balance differing ideas and opinions and preferences…

That’s how I survived Montreal.

People can enhance an experience. They enrich it with their own perspectives and personalities. They challenge you to step outside of yourself and the way you see the world.

But it’s okay to be alone, too.

So I’m going to be a hermit in Vermont for a few days. There are worse places to do that.
People

November 15th, 2019

Wait where r u

That’s all he said. This random text from a Maine-friend …just after I’ve made it to Vermont and posted a picture of a snowstorm on Instagram.

Vermont. Where are you?

What else was I suppose to say?

Vermont…

Since leaving Nashville in July, I’ve met a lot of people. I’ve met them while hiking…or on dating apps…or couchsurfing…or sitting in coffee shops…or at conferences all about bread…or through work. And each of these people has enhanced my experience in one way or another.

But only because I’ve allowed it to happen.

Once upon a time, I wanted to become a hermit. With each new person that weaves into my story of this life season, though, I am more convinced that hermit-ness isn’t the best option (sorry, dad).

Throw pie into a wood fired oven? Sure!

Check out a climbing gym in Burlington? Sure!

Wander through GoodWill helping someone put together a Halloween costume? Sure!

Break a trail in snowshoes? Sure!

Wander through a state park and find things to climb? Sure!

Try every bakery in a small city? Sure!

I’ve learned that letting go of my need to control everything is essential for this process (I’m working on this…not there yet). I make vague plans, but remain open to pursuing new adventures and opportunities as they present themselves. People have been gracious enough to invite me into their lives and I’ve let go of my plans in order to dive in with them. It has been an honor and a joy to experience such hospitality and warmth (even though it’s 27 degrees outside…warmest day I’ve experienced in Vermont!).

And the beauty of this is that there are always more adventures to come…as long as I remain open to the possibilities.
Makes sense

November 8th, 2019

There are things in life that just make sense for some people. Tossing a ball into a basket. Crunching numbers in columns. Motivating people. Making music. Scaling rock walls. Getting a rowdy bunch of students to settle down.

And you can tell when someone is doing “their thing.” There is a sense of ease and grace about them…and they just seem to exist in this perfect rhythm. And it’s like this task, whatever it is, makes them feel most at home. It makes sense.

I bake with kids.

It’s weird and doesn’t always go smoothly. Over the past few years, I’ve lost eggs to floors and messed up recipes and guided students to bake things that they wound up hating. But that doesn’t change it for me. Given a choice, I will still bake with kids over just about anything else.

Translating that to the outdoors has been challenging. I wasn’t even sure I should try…fire scares me. But I couldn’t just walk away from this opportunity to do the thing that I love most because I was scared.

Each time I taught outdoor cooking, I got a little bolder. I started by using a pre-made mix for johnny cakes. From there, I did some research and Frankenstein-ed a “from scratch” recipe. And with every group, we got better at building and tending our fire.

Last week, we tried something completely new – pumpkin scones. I tweaked a “traditional” recipe to make it a little more outdoor-friendly. This recipe let us have conversations about kitchen chemistry and really get our hands into the food that we were preparing. And kids got to smell pumpkin (yuck!).

And I was entirely in my element. Over the past couple of months, there have been plenty of moments where I have felt joy and enthusiasm and even small tidbits of pride in the work. But it’s all been so foreign and new that it rarely feels “comfortable.”

Cooking scones over an open fire on a beach…it makes sense.
The privilege of conservation

October 29th, 2019
To discuss food waste. To carry a trash bag and pick up litter on a trail. To choose the fresh vegetables over the canned or frozen vegetables. To visit the grocery store with a reusable bag.

These are privileges.

To cultivate a permaculture-inspired garden in your backyard. To watch stars emerge in a pollution-free sky. To experiment with higher quality flours in baking. To take a seasonal job just to see what it’s like.

These are privileges.
Ever since leaving Nashville, I’ve come up against this idea of privilege in new ways. It is no longer just the “haves” vs the “have nots”…the people who gentrify a neighborhood vs the people who have always been there…the donors vs the recipients of the non-profit work.

It’s the people who can make conscious choices about preserving and controlling the environment – from a garden to their own body to national forests. Their resources allow them to invest in this work. They spend time volunteering on trail maintenance, allowing more people to engage with nature. They cultivate healthier user-land relationships through the application of permaculture principles. They teach other people how to recycle and compost and repurpose.

All of this is good. And the work that I’m doing now – hiking with kids, teaching them to waste less food, guiding them through a perch dissection, forcing them to practice team building – it’s good stuff.

But we all have the privilege of investing our resources – time, energy, money – into this good stuff.

And I’m constantly stuck in this battle between pushing forward into this world of conservation/environmental education/outdoorsiness and feeling drawn back to the work that I’ve always done in the face of poverty, diversity and social injustices. With the season coming to an end, I’m actively looking for “what’s next” and I haven’t been able to find a way to ride the line between those just yet.

And it’s a privilege to wait until I find that “yet.”
Take a Latch out of Arkansas…

October 21st, 2019

My parents have often been called “adorable.” People say that my mom is incredibly sweet and my dad has an amazing mustache. My mom is known to make friends wherever she goes and learn the life story of cashiers in the grocery store. My dad, on the other hand, is your classic introvert/hermit who is happiest sitting alone with a cup of coffee…preferably around nature. So, they have quirks (like most parents). And when they decided to drive up to Maine for a few days to join the “leaf peepers,” I braced myself for the quirks.

My dad picked up rocks all up and down the coast of our little island near Acadia. My mom rolled her eyes and added a few to his collection. We found fresh lobster and clam chowder…and my mom even tasted lobster (I know – right?!?). There were antique stores and bookstores to visit. Plants to identify and forests to wander. There was annoyance at people being in all of the places. And there was a stop at a lighthouse (and annoyance at people standing in the way of pictures).

They brought their quirks all the way to Maine with them…but if you looked at my car (and the list of places I’ve visited between here and Arkansas/Tennessee), you’d know that I have plenty of my own. And, as confirmed by all photographic evidence, our quirks prevent us from taking any sort of normal photo together.